


Found the Place to Rest my Head

by windandthestars



Series: Never Let Me Go (Were!Fox AU) [3]
Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Were!fox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He slips to the floor, knees pressed between his chest and the back of the seat in front of him, and leans her head against her knee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Found the Place to Rest my Head

**Author's Note:**

> Can be read as a stand alone or in conjunction with [Until I Wrap Myself Inside Your Arms I Cannot Rest](http://archiveofourown.org/works/518365)
> 
> Title from Florence + The Machine 'Never Let Me Go'

Neither of them are happy to be here. They may both be glad they finally have a lead in a case they though had long ago gone cold, but tonight that's not enough to do anything more than take the edge off their agitation. 

He had changed out of his tux, the expensive one she insisted he wear when she was pulling out all the stops. She was still wearing her gown though, a deep midnight blue shimmering with hues of purple and black, the jewels around her throat glittering in invitation. The smells of the evening still clung to every crevasse, every fold in the fabric: the food, and the men, the other women who had leaned too close and left traces of their perfume behind. It was driving him mad. Buried underneath it all there was the faintest hint of her perfume, but there’s not enough of it for him to make it out, not when he's stuck with his human nose. He had asked her to take off her gown while he'd hastily changed into a ragged pair of jeans and a soft linen t-shirt, but angered over being pulled away from the dinner, she had refused. 

The part of him that's being practical is glad they’d had the foresight to rent a town car with tinted windows, a woman in an evening gown, even a woman not nearly as stunning as Magnus would stand out in a neighborhood like this. The rest of him, the part of him that was swinging between relief and anger at not having to make small talk while watching Magnus subtly flirt her way across the room, is slowly going mad.

Magnus' nails click against one another and she sighs, eyes hazily focused on the uneventful view out the window. They weren't watching for anything in particular, but waiting for a more overt sign that their information was correct. It was likely they didn't need to be here, news would have reached them quickly enough, but when it came to smuggling operations Magnus was particularly vigilant at making sure nothing slipped by her. And so here they sat watching couples saunter down the street, listening to loud teens cat call to one another from in front of boarded up houses and empty lots.

He knows they're attracting stares, a dark town car parked, unmoving for an extended period of time was liable to do that, and the knowledge made his skin itch. Despite the fact that they remain unseen, watching, he can't shake the feeling that they're being watched.

Fabric rustles and he finally looks at her, taking in the slope of her neck, her sleek dark curls, her deep red lips and flushed cheeks so obviously painted on before their hotel mirror. There's the faintly sour smell of alcohol that escapes with her discontented sighs. She's not intoxicated by any stretch of the imagination, but the champagne had been abundant and she had seen no reason to refrain. She's not drunk, but she's had enough that the alcohol has added to her sour her mood.

He reaches out and traces the outline of her skirt on the grey upholstered seat. He's too edgy, too uneasy with their current predicament to find the words to draw her out and she's too bitterly disappointed in missing one of the biggest political galas of the year to let him, but what he wants more than anything is to smooth that frown from her face.

"Magnus," he whispers but he knows she's not really listening, not with the absent way her nails drum against each other with sharp metallic clicks.

He slips to the floor, knees pressed between his chest and the back of the seat in front of him, and leans her head against her knee. There's too much fabric there for him to discern the warmth of her skin through it all, but she reaches down absently, automatically, to run her fingers through his hair.

She's momentarily confused by the texture of his hair, the gel he added to keep it set neatly in place snags on her finger tips, his hair coarse and unyielding. He sighs a second later though when her fingernails find his scalp and scratch lightly before moving to his favorite spot behind his ear. He feels like a walking cliché every time, but he melts into her touch with a sigh, tipping his head back and dropping his arms to his side.

He hums as she continues, a low almost constant sound. He feels his foot twitch and he tamps down his momentary irritation. She's doing it on purpose, that slow deliberate raking of her nails along the short hairs behind his ears and along the back of his neck. She hasn't realized it yet, but she's heightening his awareness of her, keying all of his senses in on her, forcing him to push aside his unease. Normally he would fight this, move to put some space between the two of them, or put up the walls he's built to protect himself, to protect them both, but tonight he presses closer with a whine.

His senses have started to flare and he presses his eyes shut to sort through the added sensory information. It always takes a moment, the overwhelming rush of stimulation leaving him all but mute, but he's gotten more adept at dealing with it over the years. Tonight he focuses on her hand, just the feel of her skin against his where her palm rests lightly on the underside of his jaw.

The noise from outside intensifies and he sorts through it all. It should make him panic, but the extra information allows him to determine they're under no immediate threat and the noise fades into the background, being processed subconsciously now. When he opens his eyes, the dark tint on the window no longer leaves his vision hazy and his eyes dart back and forth, gaze shifting from window to window until he once again confirms they're safe, Magnus is safe.

He lets go. He lets go of the tension that has built in his muscles. He lets go of the omnipresent dialogue running in his head: Will the psychologist, Will the monster hunter. The view in the window shifts; the sidewalk is no longer in sight but the night sky beyond the wash of the streetlights is lit bright with stars.

His foot twitches and he lets it be, letting the muscles stretch and contract and then he's burrowing out from under his clothes, spinning in circles, the widest loops the car floor will allow. His nails click against the silver of her shoes and she clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, worried that he might scuff them. He answers with a pleased yip and she laughs as he jumps up onto the car seat beside her, his white-tipped tail brushed in horizontal stripes against her stomach as he dashes back and forth across her lap.

He'll ruin her shoes if he jumps back down onto the floor, but he's far from caring. There's something incredibly freeing about allowing the constant human chatter in his head drop away. When he was younger, the playfulness of his fox self had a strong draw but as he had grown older he had grown leery and fearful, feeling the transformation left him vulnerable. After coming to work for Magnus though, all that had changed.

This part of himself, the more primal part of himself, wanted to protect Magnus just as much, if not more so, than the more logical forward thinking part of himself. Cloaked in fur he can let go of everything that makes his life complicated and focus on the other stuff, the simpler things, the more important things. And with Magnus, he had found it was easier to worm his way into her heart and good graces when he wasn't able to communicate the extent of his understanding or push the conversation past the point where she it was comfortable.

They're safe in that way, and he's safe with her too, her physical presence making up for the physical strengths he loses with his opposable thumbs and upright form. More importantly though, at east for right now, he can keep a better lookout than she can, a better look out than he would be able to otherwise. He can keep them both safe without the constant pressure on his conscious mind and that leaves him free to worry about cheering her up.

He loops around the car seat a couple more times, letting the euphoria work its way through his system and then he slows down prancing across her lap deliberately mucking up her gown. It's just a bit of dust, but it's enough to make his point. They won't be making it back to the dinner tonight.

"Alright," she sighs as he sets two black-capped paws on the seat to turn around again. "We're staying."

He grins at her in agreement, his ears perking up as he nuzzles at her hand where it rests against the door. When it doesn't budge he nips at it lightly and then intensifies his efforts when she refuses his request. She's teasing him now. He can feel the playfulness chasing away the stiff resentment in her limbs. He takes her wrist in his mouth, teeth pressed gently against her skin.

Her fingers wiggle, but she doesn't draw away and so he persists, shaking his head until her hand thrashes in the air. She'll have pin prick bruises tomorrow but he supposes that's the point. They have a day of meetings lined up, most of her afternoon will be spent giving evidence before large groups of congressional members while he slogs through more bureaucracy.

She copes better with days like that than he does. Her manner's better suited to the intricacies of politics and she enjoys the intellectual aspect of it all, but as well practiced as she is, tonight she's dreading it. There will be questions to answer, queries in response to her sudden disappearance from the dinner. He may be locked away behind a stack of paperwork, but he'll be more free than she could ever be imprisoned behind someone else's view of the world. Patience and stubbornness will get him through his day; she's going to need more than that.

Releasing her hand, he slips back into her lap and settles down with his head set carefully on his paws, the tip of his nose kept warm tucked into his tail. He's purring now, at least that's how he likes to think of it. He's safe and content and while the noise he's making rustles and undulates more than the purr of a cat the purpose, at least in this case, is the same. 

Magnus pets him in long sweeping arcs over the top of his head and down his back. She mutters something, probably admonishing him for the rather tactless way he had dragged her out of the banquet hall to the car, but he's not listening. That's another perk of his current state; human speech even that which is lilting, tinted with a British accent, can be rendered incomprehensible and unimportant with no more effort than it takes him to burrow his nose into her gown and search out the smell he had been looking for, the warm smell of her skin. He inhales the scented with a contented sigh and nuzzles the side of his face against her knee. She scratches him behind the ears and chuckles to the quiet car with a shake of her head. “Cheeky.”

**Author's Note:**

> For kink_bingo: vehicular, voyeurism, gender play, drugs/aphrodisiacs


End file.
